


Music is an Expression of Myself

by Motherof4dragons



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Plays the Piano, Piano, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: After a particularly gruesome crime scene, Lucifer storms off and Chloe tries to find him. What she finds instead is a side of Lucifer that he doesn't let be seen very often. Dirty Dirty sex ensues. Takes places in Season 4, no Eve, no Chloe freak out. Chapter 2 will be explicit.***************************I’m still debating about how to approach him when the sounds of his piano fill the space.At first it’s just one note echoing in the open area's that make up Lucifer’s penthouse. Then another follows, and another, until the single notes make up the beginning of a melody echoing in the acoustics.Normally he plays renditions of popular songs from the last hundred years or so, but I have no idea when this song is from. He’s singing along with it quietly, but not with words. More like since he’s short an extra hand, he’s playing the counter melody with his voice.





	Music is an Expression of Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I am new to the Lucifer fandom. I've been wanting to write about Lucifer playing the piano for weeks now, but my story took a lot of turns from that direction.

It’s the sound of the piano bench scraping across the floor that brings me back to consciousness.

When I got to Lux this evening Lucifer wasn’t here. I called his phone, again, but it went straight to voicemail, so I ordered Lucifer’s favorite whiskey and settled in to wait. I hung out downstairs for a while, but when the sea of sweaty bodies got too much for me, I asked the bartenders to let Lucifer know I was upstairs when he showed and took the elevator up to the penthouse.

It’s been months since I’ve learned the truth, years since he’s been my partner, and I never fail to get a surge of pride that they let me wander around this place as if I belonged here. I never wait in line, I never pay for a drink. As far as Lucifer's employee's are concerned, I am just an extension of him. I know his elevator used to get dozens of men and women in it a week seeking their way to Lucifer’s pleasure, but they were mainly escorted in, and left to see themselves out. I know I’m one of the few that are able to come and go as I please, with my own code and my own keys and even one of the coveted parking spots. And lately, the parade of people to Lucifer’s bed has slowed to less then a trickle if Maze is to be believed. She sounded disgusted at the situation, so I have no reason to think it wouldn’t be true.

I wonder what’s going on with him?

Taking a quick look at my phone, it’s already past three a.m. It doesn’t look like I have any responses to the dozen or so messages I’ve sent him since he stormed out of the crime scene this afternoon, so I don’t think he knows I’m here. Otherwise I’m sure the first thing he would have done was come looking for me. That in itself is out of character for him. There are two things in this life I can depend on unfailingly. My love for Trixie, and the fact that Lucifer always has my back. He’s left orgies for me, killed for me. Lucifer never ignores me when I tell him I need him. Yet I haven't heard from him in over twelve hours now. That might be some sort of record.

Not that I would ever admit it to him, but I’m almost disappointed that he didn’t find me curled up in his bed tonight. I take a glance at myself, and try to picture it from Lucifer's eyes; hair wild and tousled and spread around me. My button down shirt is gone. I’m wearing only my tank top, and the top button of my jeans have come undone in my sleep. Burgundy satin sheets are wrinkled around my body where I tossed and turned in the bed. The sheets smell like him, a soft and earthy smell, like sandalwood mixed with vanilla, and now I smell like him too. When I close my eyes I can see it playing out in my head; “Detective, you naughty little minx. If you wanted to go to my bed, all you had to do is say the word.” Forbidden feelings pool in my belly just thinking about his smooth voice naughtily calling me out.

I didn’t intend to fall asleep here. He’s just been so emotional lately, and certainly crazier than normal. But I guess, he’s never really been crazy. He’s always been one hundred percent real with me, sometimes to a fault. It’s just our perception of him that makes him seem nuttier than peanut butter. A millennia or two of life would tend to make a person unique to those of us whose life passes in a blink of their eye. Maybe that’s the problem. It must be exhausting to see little except humans destroying each other day after day. I know it’s hard for me. What must it be like for him, who gets to watch it for eternity? I just needed to see him. I need to make sure that he’s okay. As the minutes turned to hours waiting for him to show up, I wanted to be closer to him, so I came into his room. The nap was an added bonus I suppose.

The sound of him pouring himself a drink is a reassuring sort of normality in what has been an extremely stressful day, and it brings a smile to my face. When the sounds of him placing his drink atop his piano are quickly followed by the unmistakable smell of marijuana, I now know he doesn’t realize I’m here. He stopped openly doing drugs in front of me quite some time ago.

I’m still debating about how to approach him when the sounds of his piano fill the space.

At first it’s just one note echoing in the open areas that make up Lucifer’s penthouse. Then another follows, and another, until the single notes make up the beginning of a melody echoing in the acoustics.

Normally he plays renditions of popular songs from the last hundred years or so, but I have no idea when this song is from. He’s singing along with it quietly, but not with words. More like since he’s short an extra hand, he’s playing the counter melody with his voice.

Brooding is the only word I can think to call how he’s playing tonight. Otherworldly perhaps. The piece is almost certainly something classical. Beethoven maybe? I've heard it several times before, but never played by Lucifer. I consider whether he learned the song from the source, then let my mind boggle momentarily that this is my life. I can legitimately ask my best friend whether he hung out at piano bars some three hundred odd years ago learning music from long dead composers.

I shake my head to clear it of my ridiculous thoughts. I need to bring my thoughts out of the past and back into the present. And in the present, my partner’s eyes flashed red as he stormed out of a crime scene thirteen hours ago and he hasn’t answered my calls since. I need to make sure he's okay. And to make sure that nobody is suffering his wrath if he isn't

Slipping out of his bed as quietly as I can, I push my hair over one shoulder to get it out of my face. After hesitating for a moment, I slip my over shirt back onto my shoulders, but don’t bother doing up any buttons. Even though he’s seen me naked, something about the way he looks at me always makes me feel exposed, no matter what I’m wearing. I feel like I’m going to need a barrier tonight, an extra layer of protection. On silent feet, I make my way over to the top of the steps leading up to his bedroom. From this angle, I can half hide myself in the shadows, but still see him in profile at the piano.

The sight of him sitting on the bench breaks my heart. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gotten to see him like this, alone and in his element, in all the years we’ve known each other. He looks hauntingly beautiful. Not because he’s the devil. His mojo doesn’t work on me. No, I think he’s beautiful because he’s plain old Lucifer. Not for the first time I wonder how I’ve been able to ignore the fact that the person I spend most of my waking time with is hotter than sin. Literally. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I can’t tell yet, all of the drama of the last few months have removed my blinders about more than just his origins.

His hands, large and strong glide across the keys. His fingers are long and graceful, hitting some notes as lightly as a butterfly, and then moments later slamming all his emotions onto others. His hands seem to almost fly over the keyboard, using some otherworldly grace that so few can replicate.

His whole body has joined the playing of the piece. His feet hit the pedals when needed, causing his legs to stretch and flex. He’s barefoot, which is another thing I rarely get to see. Something about a man wearing dress pants but no shoes just does it for me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. I’ll deny that until the day I die. His vest is open, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even from here I can see the muscles in his arms, straining with the devils concentration to hold his power in check. When I first found out that my partner was the actual devil, his strength scared me. The fact that everything from his extreme personality to his desire to punish wrongdoers made a certain kind of sense scared me even more. But now, the thought of all that power packed into his rippled lithe body is exciting. I like knowing that he could pick that piano up and toss it out the window without a second’s hesitation. I like knowing that when I walk into a dangerous situation, the devil himself has my back.

His eyes are closed, and his body is in constant motion as he plays. First leaning in the caress the keys, then putting his heart into it as he takes out the day’s frustration on the instrument in front of him. The emotion flittering across his face has given me goosebumps, and I have to run my hands up and down my arms to get myself back under control.

The music changes, abruptly but smoothly, and suddenly he’s on the edge of the piano bench. He reaches up and takes a swig of his whiskey, then puts both hands on the piano again. This time, his fingers fly with such speed I can hardly make them out. The devil's music is what he calls it, and an upbeat jazzy blues streams from the strings of the instrument.

The passion on his face is plain, and I wonder what it would be like to have all of his attention on me like that. His fingers working my body until I make the sounds he wants to hear. The thought twists something low and deep between my thighs, and I have to stuff the images deep in my mental lock box. I swear he can tell when I think dirty thoughts about him.

When he gets to the third song, I start to feel uncomfortable continuing to watch him like this. It’s the worst invasion of privacy, even if it’s not my fault the wanker never answered his phone today. It’s gone on so long now that I’m not sure how to extract myself from my hiding spot without losing my dignity in the process. Suddenly I recognize the song he’s playing, and it squeezes my heart when he starts singing the chorus.

_I have died every day, waiting for you_  
_ Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years_  
_ I'll love you for a thousand more_

I take a step forward, but freeze again when he continues singing the next line.

_Time stands still_  
_ Beauty in all she is_  
_ I will be brave_  
_ I will not let anything, take away_  
_ What's standing in front of me_  
_ Every breath, every hour has come to this_

_One step closer_

The Archangel Samael, Prince of Darkness, the Devil himself, is singing a love song about loving someone for thousands of years.

Wiping the tears that have suddenly sprung to my eyes, I take a deep breath and walk out into the open.

Several things happen at once when I enter Lucifer’s line of sight. The music stops with a clang as the bench under him clatters to the ground. With a whoosh of air that flutters the hair against my cheek, his wings make a dramatic appearance into his living room. His stance is rigid and radiating tension, ready to protect against whatever danger has entered his proximity. His wings are extended to their full glory, and are so beautiful they steal my breath away. Wider than I am tall from the tip to the base on his back, some of his feathers are longer than my arm. The few times I’ve gotten a glimpse of his wings have been in dangerous high pressure situations, so I haven’t been given the opportunity just to look and take them in. I’ve seen his devil persona more times than I can count now, but this is the first time I truly understand who and what he is. First and foremost, Lucifer is the Morning Star. The Light bringer. An Angel. His wings are almost luminescent. With his sharp good looks, and his wings casting a light glow around him, he looks like a gift from God himself. I suppose in a way he is.

I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until the need for oxygen makes my lungs burn. I take in a shuddering gasp, and without conscious decision allow my feet to carry me down the steps until I’m standing directly in front of him.

He hasn’t moved since I startled him off of his piano bench. His posture is almost unearthly still, except for his eyes. His eyes have followed my descent into his presence filled with something akin to fear. Extreme wariness at the least.

I come to a stop inches away from placing my hands on him. My palms are already rising to caress before I come to my senses. Freezing with my fingers outstretched between us, I ask, “May I touch them Lucifer?”

Half a smirk covers his face, but he has to swallow twice before he finds his voice to answer. And still his eyes look upon me with nervousness in their depths.

“I’ve been trying to get you to touch me for years Detective. Far be it for me to stop you now.”

The words are pure Lucifer, but the usual zest for naughty innuendo is missing from his tone.

Changing the path of my hands, I cup his face instead of reaching for his wings. When I run my fingers over his scruff with my other hand, stepping closer still to ease the stretch of my arms, all of the tension leaks from his posture. I sense more than see his wings droop slightly at his side.

“You never have to be afraid of me Lucifer. I would never hurt you.”

He closed his eyes when I made contact with his flesh, his whole body angling into my touch. When I talk though, his eyes snap open and a predatory gleam appears to overtake his features.

“I do not fear humans, Detective. Humans fear me.”

I try to put all of my affection for him into my eyes and into my touches when I whisper, “I’m not afraid of you.”

Before I lose my courage I run my hands from his face, down his shoulders and gently caress the wings spreading from his shoulder blades. We’re chest to chest now, or chest to cheek since Lucifer is practically a giant, and I feel the low moan rumble from his chest.

Immediately I try to pull my hands away, afraid that I’ve somehow hurt him, but with reflexes quicker than I can see, he reaches out and catches my wrist.

“Please Chloe, don’t stop.”

I startle at the use of my true name, and after a brief nod of acknowledgement, dip my fingers back into his wings. His feathers are softer than air, lighter than a cloud. The texture is like silk, but with an edge that could turn lethal when needed. The more that feel, the more I seem to crave, and I spread both of my wands wide and ripple them as far as my fingertips can reach.

I’ve had daydreams about running my hands through Lucifer’s hair when it’s soft and free of product. Maybe after a bout of lovemaking, with his head resting on my stomach. Never before did I imagine how spectacular it would feel to run my fingers through his feathers. A sense of wonder rolls through me that a being this marvelous would submit himself to be manhandled by my uncoordinated touches. Unbidden to my mind comes the thought about what he would look like wearing his wings, and only his wings. Suddenly I want nothing more than to see his naked body sculpted like a statue outlined by angel wings.

Without warning, Lucifer puts both hands under my ass and lifts, picking me up into his arms. Out of instinct, I wrap my legs around his hips, settling myself securely in his grasp.

Gone is the angel afraid of his reception. Gone is the devil ready to strike fear into all those he meets. All that’s remaining now is Lucifer, my partner, and I know the hungry look in his eyes is mirrored on my own face.

His voice is ragged when he says “Chloe,” and the one word is filled with so much desire it makes my panties drip with need. Both question and exclamation, I give him the only answer I can.

Keeping one hand buried in his wings, I bring the other to his face, and pull him close until our lips meet.

He groans against my lips, and uses his tongue to force my mouth open more. Instead of a repeat of the few gentle kisses we’ve shared in the past, he kisses me as if he can feel my soul through his kiss. His hands grip me so tight I’m sure I’ll have his fingertips on my ass tomorrow, and the thought only spurs me on more. My hips are snapping in his hands, aching for some sort of contact to relieve the pressure building there.

“Always so impatient Detective. If I’d had known all it would take to get you into my arms was a glimpse of my wings, I’d have shown them to you years ago.”

I can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes from my chest, and laugh even more as we lose our kiss, lips too busy smiling to entwine with each other. He pulls his wings in tight to his body, but doesn’t put them away to wherever they go when we can’t see them.

When his feet hit the stairs leading into his room I giggle, “Me either. Now we know for next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI, Chapter two will be rated explicit.:)
> 
> I listened to classical piano for four days straight trying to hear a song that jumped out at me as Brooding Lucifer. In the end, I decided on Moonlight Sonata, which I know by heart and therefor didn't need to spend half a week looking for lol. 
> 
> For the second Song I chose All God's Chillun Got Rhythm from Bud Powell.
> 
> Finally, I chose A Thousand Years by Christina Perry.


End file.
